A poem by Emily Brontë (1818-1848)


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The Night is Darkening Around Me



    The night is darkening round me,
    The wild winds coldly blow ;
    But a tyrant spell has bound me,
    And I cannot, cannot go.

    The giant trees are bending
    Their bare boughs weighed with snow;
    The storm is fast descending,
    And yet I cannot go.

    Clouds beyond clouds above me,
    Wastes beyond wastes below;
    But nothing drear can move me:
    I will not, cannot go.



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Written on 2023-07-03 at 05:19

Tags English  Gondal 

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
I went to comment on this yesterday, miskeyed and didn't have the time to repeat myself: Today I see comments that largely wipe away my yeterday thinking. However, it is true that the rhythm and flow is quite typical of the period; Maybe even predictable. I've thought this about many poems of the same era, sometimes they are astoundingly good and other times ... just poems. I regret this doesnt' do much for me except please my ear - much like a greetings card. I know! I'm a heathen! Each to his own.
Blessings, Allen

Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
For its time, Bronte's lyricism was spare and not without strength. Economical.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
I've eaten a great deal of fiber.
It tastes pretty awful, you know,
And been squatting here for an hour,
But, still, I'm unable to go.